


Quarantine

by MaybeSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Psychological Torture, Sherlolly - Freeform, TFP Fallout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeSherlock/pseuds/MaybeSherlock
Summary: The time in which Sherlock spent under Eurus’s manipulations severely compromised his psyche, leaving him directionless on how to handle his newly exposed emotions.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 62
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

"Dr. Hooper, your presence is  
requested at 221B Baker St.  
at noon today. 

-Mycroft Holmes"

Molly stared at the name on the text message--Mycroft, not Sherlock. She stood in the kitchen and stared at the cold cup of tea she had made an hour before. Every time she attempted to drink it, memories of Sherlock's phone call churned in her gut and caused her to rush to the bathroom as waves of nausea emptied what little she was able to drink. 

Anger rose in her heart each time she re-read Mycroft's message. This was too much to handle; for years Sherlock had exploited her feelings for him, taking advantage and manipulating her for his own selfish purposes. Two days of silence since Sherlock's phone call and he has Mycroft clean up his mess? Well, that bastard would not get the satisfaction of giving an explanation or offering an empty apology so that he would still be granted access to her lab and assistance. 

With fingers shaking from fatigue and indignation, Molly gave Mycroft the undeserved courtesy of a quick response:

"I'm done with Baker Street, Mycroft. He has gone too far, this is over."

"Can't say that was unexpected," John said as he read Molly's reply over Mycroft's shoulder in the living room of 221B. 

"Unexpected, no. Unacceptable--yes," Mycroft curtly replied. "With each hour we delay, Sherlock is exponentially becoming worse."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

After the unimaginable events two days ago, Mycroft, Sherlock, and John were returned to Sherrinford for quarantine and clearance at Mycroft's insistence. "We spent many intensive hours under her manipulation, especially you, Sherlock," Mycroft had said before they begrudgingly entered their holding cells. "Our clearance will only be granted whereupon three independent psychiatrists and a medical physician unanimously agree upon our sanity and state of health."

The holding cells they were detained in were rather like Eurus's living quarters, though smaller; a twelve by twelve fiberglass enclosure with a three foot empty parameter contained within solid concrete walls. A large one-way, reinforced mirror and several small cameras imbedded in the concrete walls every six feet provided a three hundred and sixty degree visual of the detainee. A thinly padded cot was welded and secured to steel plates in the concrete floor, and a short simple metal toilet sat very much exposed in the opposite corner of the fiberglass enclosure. 

After twelve hours of intensive debriefing, psychoanalysis, and a comprehensive physical, John and subsequently Mycroft were deemed not a threat to themselves or society. Sherlock, however, had provided his testament of the events, but said not a word to either of the psychiatrists and actually physically attacked the physician and guards that were sent in to preform the physical. 

Finally, after hours of silence and increasing physical displays of restlessness from Sherlock, John was able to convince Mycroft to let him speak with Sherlock. Before John was ushered through the solid metal door to Sherlock's enclosure, Mycroft gripped John's elbow and said, "Be careful Dr. Watson. It is clear Eurus has compromised my brother. You will have five minutes, do not approach the glass and stay within the three foot parameter."

When John entered Sherlock's enclosure, Sherlock stopped his aggressive pacing and looked up at John with dark eyes despite the brilliant white light of the room. "Christ, Sherlock..." John said under his breath when he took in Sherlock's condition first hand. Sherlock had removed the coarse, white canvas shirt that they all were given to wear and wore only the thin, draw string pants that hung loose on his hips. His skin reflected a sheen of sweat and his hair was wild and disheveled from having run his hands through it countless times. The shadow of his unshaven face served only to enhance his overall peaked appearance. 

Instinctively, John raised his hands in the universal "I'm-not-a-threat" pose and took a cautious step into the room. "Sherlock...mate," John said gently, "sit down for a minute, let's talk. You haven't rested since--"

"I will not be told what to do!" Sherlock yelled in a booming voice that struck the silence of his cell. He turned and slammed his fists on the fiberglass wall that faced the one-way mirror, "Do you hear me, Mycroft!?" With each word Sherlock bellowed, he threw his body against the solid fiberglass surface.

Mrs. Holmes turned her face away from the window and squeezed her husband's hand. She was thankful the observation room was required to be dark in order for the one-way mirror to work so her welling eyes were not obvious. Mr. Holmes however, was unable to take his eyes off his youngest son ever since he and his wife entered the room an hour ago. The emotional upheaval of discovering their daughter was alive was enough on its own; seeing his boy's sanity unravel before his eyes, broke his heart.

"How could you have let this happen!?" Sherlock screamed and continued his assault on the walls of his prison with the only weapon he had, his own body. "John!" frantically, Sherlock turned to his best friend with distraught panic in his eyes. Misery and rage like this were not emotions Sherlock felt, and seeing them gush so uncharacteristically and intensely from him, frightened John to his core. "You see what he has done to me?" Sherlock pleaded and faced John with supplicating hands. Bruises had already formed on Sherlock's body from his previous attempts to break through the glass, his chest heaved with exertion, and sweat was now dripping down his sinewy torso. 

John was aghast, he could not remember what he wanted to say to Sherlock; his best friend's distress and hysteria drove all reason from his brain. He hesitated and looked quickly to the one-way mirror and back to the pitiable man before him. "Sherlock's right," John thought to himself, and he clenched his fist with growing outrage, but before he could formulate his next move, Mycroft's magnified voice filled the room, "Dr. Watson, say nothing more and leave the room, now!"

John took one step back but stopped when Sherlock fell to his knees, "Please, John," Sherlock said with a hoarse voice and pressed his hands to the glass, "I have to see her, I have to know she is alive!"

"Sherlock...I..." John said, scarcely audible and as he took a step toward the glass enclosure, strong hands gripped his body and pulled him back and through the metal door. John struggled, but was no match for the physical fitness of the guards. "No! No!! Sherlock, I'm sorry! --Let me go! Sherlock!!!"

The heavy doors slammed shut but John could still hear Sherlock scream as he was escorted back to the observation room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the positive feedback! I wanted to get out another chapter for you quickly because I think it'll be another week or so before I get the chance to sit down and continue the story.

John entered the observation room panting and making a point to straighten out the wrinkles on his shirt he acquired from his encounter with Sherlock's guards. "What the hell was that!?--" John demanded, ready to throttle Mycroft for answers, but drew up short when he saw Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stand up from their chairs. The silence was only broken by the dull thudding sound of Sherlock's body making contact with the solid walls of his enclosure and his continued disturbing cries of, "I have to save her!!" and "John! Mycroft! Let me out!"

"John, dear," Mrs. Holmes recovered first and embraced John as he looked skeptically over her shoulder at Mycroft, seriously questioning his judgment for allowing their parents to witness Sherlock's departure from reality. John shook Mr. Holmes's hand, but did not know what to say given the terrible reason they were all here. 

"So, it is now evident to us all that Sherlock has discovered Eurus's charming talent for recruiting a person's mind," Mycroft said. "Making this exponentially more complicated." He rubbed the worry lines on his forehead and dropped his gaze to the floor. A particularly loud thud was heard and they all looked out the window in time to see Sherlock collapse to the floor, blood flowing freely from the new wound on his head. 

"My boy..." Mr. Holmes said and held his wife against his shoulder. Sherlock rose to his knees and reached into his hair for the source of blood that ran down his face. He turned to the one-way mirror, defiantly slammed his blood soaked hand against the pane of glass, and slowly rose to his feet, swaying slightly. Grabbing the discarded shirt, Sherlock roughly wiped it across his brow, smearing the blood hideously down his face and neck.

"My-croft!" Sherlock groaned in a sickening, childish sing-song canter. He staggered to the opposite side of his enclosure, but in his concussed state, was unable to gauge the depth of the room and collided into the glass wall. The camera directly pointed at Sherlock gave his audience a clear view of the impact on their monitors and of just how hard he hit. Blood streaked over the glass where his body slid from where he collided, but Sherlock surprisingly remained on his feet. "MYCROFT!" he screamed psychotically and the volume of his voice ignited his fury beyond the pain. Again and again his fists and body beat on the glass.

"Mycroft!" John exclaimed, waking the stunned room from speechlessness. "We have to do something: he is seriously injuring himself!"

"Yes," Mycroft gasped under his breath, "-yes," and he pressed a round blue button on a control panel by the door. The sound of pressurized gas being released hissed distantly and Sherlock froze, for he heard it too.

With panic in his eyes, Sherlock screamed as the glass room filled with a white, cloudy gas. "NO!" he backed against the glass, "No, NO!" but with each scream, he only pulled more and more of the sedative fumes into his lungs. Growing weaker and unable to resist the chemical influence, he slid down the wall and sat roughly down on the concrete that was spattered with his blood. "...No..." he lifted his drooping head so it thudded back against the glass. Sherlock pleaded, "Please, John...I need ..." his words lost focus and before he could say another word, his eyes rolled in his head and his body fell limp to the ground. 

"Let me go examine him," John said commandingly and made for the door but found it locked.

"No, John," Mycroft said, "We will follow protocol, he is still dangerous!" Within seconds, two heavily armored men rushed into the cell wearing advanced face masks and goggles. Two other masked and goggled men rushed in behind the medics with tanks on their backs and began pressure washing the walls and floors clean of Sherlock's blood. The stained water drained down the small gutters that were cleverly built into the concrete parameter.

"This is bullshit! I'm a trained army surgeon, I think I can handle an unconscious patient!" John gestured to the men as they quickly moved Sherlock's listless body onto the cot, secured his arms and wrists to the remote controlled restraints on the bed. One medic started an intravenous line in Sherlock's arm and connected it to a saline bag that was pumped rapidly into Sherlock's body, while the other established Sherlock's vitals, and expertly cleaned and sutured the wound on his head. The whole process was done within two minutes, and John could not help but be impressed.

"Mycroft," Mr. Holmes spoke in a baritone that echoed Sherlock's pitch and shivers of unease rippled down John's spine. "Why can't we just allow him to see her; he has only just discovered she exists! He is destroying himself! If Eurus could just..."

"Because it is not Eurus Sherlock wants to see," John interrupted and the room collectively looked at him in confusion. "Nor is it Irene Adler, as I first thought," he said and looked knowingly at Mycroft.

"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Holmes asked impatiently.

"...Molly Hooper," Mycroft whispered and stared at his brother's unconscious face through the vaporous sedation that continued to ghost into Sherlock's lungs. John pointed silently at Mycroft as if to say "Bingo!" and looked at Mr. and Mrs. Holmes with raised eyebrows. 

"This is my fault," Mycroft said defeatedly and fell into a chair. "'Repress your emotions to refine your reasoning.' That is what Eurus said--I taught him that." Mycroft looked up into the questioning faces of his parents. "And Eurus undid a lifetime of repression in just one night! She deleted everything and left him with only the emotions he has no idea how to control." Embarrassed by what he had done, Mycroft covered his face with his hands sighed defeatedly. 

When John clicked his heels in front of Mycroft, he raised his head and looked up irritably up at John. 

"Seeing how your plan was ROYALLY destroyed," John said with a little snark in his voice, "we will try mine."

"Who is Molly Hooper?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

"The only person that can save Sherlock Holmes," John said with certainty. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Molly opened her door to find Dr. John Watson rocking on his heels on her porch with his hands clasped behind his back. "John, I don't know what Sherlock told you, but I can't do--" Molly let her words fall when she saw Mycroft exit the black government limousine and open his umbrella to the heavy rain. 

"We were there, Dr. Hooper," Mycroft interjected her faltering defense. "We know what Sherlock said to you, and a great deal more about the circumstances than you currently do." He walked up the cobble stone pathway to her front door and held out the umbrella for her to join him, but she stood her ground. "The situation becomes more grave with each moment that passes, Dr. Hooper," Mycroft's said with warning.

Molly looked questioningly to John, her eyes demanding an explanation. John held out a hand and when she took it, she could feel him shaking but his voice was clear and genuine, "Sherlock's in trouble, Molly. We have to hurry." She needed no further convincing than the disquiet she saw in John's eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and feedback! Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts.
> 
> (I'm good at taking criticism too! If you find an error, or a hole in the plot, or think I'm going too off track with a character please let me know! My knowledge of the Sherlock universe will never be as vast as some of you, so feel free to correct me on any wrong detail.)

"'Unmarried, practical about death. Alone,'" Mycroft repeated, rather insensitively, Sherlock's words back to her in the elegant and comfortable back seat of the government car while he narrated the events. 

John sent a scornful look at Mycroft then leaned forward, reached out for Molly's shaking hands, and gently said, "Molly, after the line was disconnected, Sherlock...he lost it. Eurus exposed him, she ripped out his heart."

"What are you saying?" Molly said annoyed. "He only said those words because he thought I would get blown up. Just like he solved the case of the poor men Eurus dropped in the ocean--so they would not die. Just like the little girl on the plane--so she would not crash, potentially killing hundreds. You know Sherlock John," and she looked at Mycroft, "He doesn't love. How could it have been anything more than trying to solve a case without casualties?"

"Miss Hooper," Mycroft began to answer, but was cut off.

"Doctor," Molly said forcefully. She was really starting to dislike this man and inconsiderate quips like that were just about as much as Molly could handle. Mycroft however, was slowly beginning to see the allure Doctor Molly Hooper possessed.

"My apologies," Mycroft said politely. "Doctor Hooper," he continued and inclined his chin, "I had specific words or phrases, triggers I would say to Sherlock periodically in order to check that his memories of Eurus were still rewritten. 'Redbeard'. 'The East Wind,'" Mycroft paused, "'I love you.' Whenever I said these words to Sherlock, he assured me that he still believed Redbeard to be our dog. But it is clear now that Eurus was reprogramming Sherlock during her experiment, and when you spoke those words to Sherlock...it broke him. 

"It was just like the first time she tortured him: Sherlock was psychologically traumatized. But it was easy to rewrite his memories then because he was a child. Now that he is a grown man, emotionally infantile as he may be, I predict this will be more of a challenge."

"'Reprogramming?'" Molly repeated skeptically. "People aren't computers, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft interrupted her and gestured allowance with a waved hand, "Mycroft, please." /p>

Molly gritted her teeth. She did not necessarily want to be on a first name basis with this man. "Mycroft, then," Molly obliged. "People aren't computers," she repeated but Mycroft interrupted her yet again.

"Computers? No," he said correcting her. "More like databases of emotions, knowledge, and memory that are easily reorganized and manipulated by your average diabolical person. Am I wrong?" He finished rhetorically, because he knew he was right.

John and Molly both understood, having been the victim to Sherlock's manipulations. Mycroft continued when he saw the understanding painted across their faces. "Now imagine a genius greater than any manipulations Sherlock may have imparted on you. Eurus made it so that those words spoken by you Doctor Hooper would--ironically--send the man who chose to feel nothing of emotions, into a mania consumed by them."

"Molly," John said when she failed to reply, "I saw his face, he was shocked--distraught with his realization of the truth when you made him confess. I'd never seen him like that, Molly. He lost it, he destroyed the coffin--I'm sure he still has splinters in his hands..."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The forty minute helicopter ride left Molly with a queasy stomach, or was it the horrific explanation John and Mycroft provided for the phone call? The sky had been clear, but the wind was up and dark storm clouds blurred the evening horizon into gloomy obscurity. By the time they exited the helicopter atop the stone facility, the sky was dark and the storm nearly upon them. Gusts of icy wind cut through the fabric of the top Molly wore and blew the neck of her overlarge sweater down over her shoulder and her hair in swirls about her face.

They walked silently through the damp corridors of the stone complex and Molly was grateful for the silence. The terrible account of the car ride was full of a disturbing ideas like a super-genius Holmes sister dementedly determined on tormenting Sherlock, a government facility where the most dangerous threats to society were held, and a coffin--her coffin. What John and Mycroft were describing sounded like a psychotic break.

Molly remembered from med school learning about mental disorders of the brain and really, now as she remembered he text, Sherlock possessed just about all the signs for an impending episode or break: abusing drugs to alter one's mood with a subsequent decline in personal care and hygiene, lack of emotion for anything at all, he would shake his head as if ridding images or voices from his mind. His sanity was on the precipice and needed only the proper trigger to push him over the edge. The growing fear of what she was about to see wished Mycroft did not walk so fast.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

When Molly entered the dimly lit room she walked straight up to the glass window without noticing the proffered hand and greeting Mr. Holmes was offering. Lying only three feet away entombed in a transparent cage of, was Sherlock. Molly noticed first the metal restraints around Sherlock's arms and ankles. His pale skin seemed to glow white under the fluorescent light, making the bruising around his arms, shoulders, and face profoundly evident.

"What happened? What have you done to him, Mycroft?" Molly said turning around fiercely. 

"And here I recall you said, 'I'm done with Baker Street, he has gone too far, this is over,'" Mycroft tauntingly repeated her own words back to her. 

"Mycroft!" Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes, and John all exclaimed at once. 

He turned and looked at their affronted faces and his smug smile slid off his face. "Apologies, Doctor Hooper," Mycroft said for the second time that day: he could not remember the last time he apologized, let alone twice in one day. "The physical state in which you find my brother is the result of his aversion to being detained and the emotional state in which you find my brother is the result of a stress overload of emotions he has never encountered--and being a Holmes, it is driving him mad." 

"He's not mad," Mrs. Holmes contradicted her son, "He is in love, and because of your idiot teachings of 'repressing emotions,' he has no idea what to do with himself!"

"It is because Eurus essentially turned him into an emotional popsicle stick, gutted his festering feelings and put them on display!" Mycroft retorted.

"Enough!" John and Mr. Holmes said together and John saw the corner of Mr. Holmes's mouth raised in a small smirk.

"Doctor Hooper," Mr. Holmes said with a calm voice. "I am Sherlock's father, Siger, and this is my wife, Violet."

Molly accepted their hand shakes with the automatic polite response as if in a trance. The idea that Sherlock had something as sentimental as parents seemed impossible, but without a doubt, Molly was staring into Sherlock's eyes when she looked at Violet, and saw the way Sherlock's lips pressed together in concern when she looked speechlessly at Siger.

The moment for a well-mannered response lapsed when Molly finally recovered the ability of speech, "Molly. Please call me Molly." 

Considerately resuming the conversation, John said, "Right, well. Molly as you know, we have been here since the events of the other day. Mycroft and myself were cleared by his psychiatrists and doctors without a problem, but Sherlock..." John put his arm around her shoulder and turned her so they were both looking at Sherlock's inert body, "Sherlock has not said a word since his debriefing, that is, until I was able to convince Mycroft to let me talk to him."

John paused, momentarily questioning his plan. "And!?" Molly demanded, stepping away from John. "What did he say, John?" but when John only looked at her with grief-stricken eyes, she turned and demanded of Mycroft, "What did Sherlock say?"

"Show her, Mycroft," John said resignedly and Mycroft produced a tablet with a large 'play' button in the center. Molly pushed it. 

Mycroft had seated himself in a chair when he heard Sherlock once again scream his name in anger, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes joined him at the small round table when they heard Sherlock's cries and grunts of pain as he threw himself violently against the glass. Molly however, remained standing. The screen went black after the medics and clean-up crew exited Sherlock's cell. Molly looked up from the screen and saw that her eyes were not the only ones brimming with tears. 

Mycroft cocked his head, pressed his finger to a small transmitter in his ear, and said, "I am told we will be forced to turn off the sedative gas in ten minutes." They all looked up at him, "The paralytic in the dose will expound to render his breathing too ineffectual for safety if it is left on any longer," he added in explanation.

Molly fell into the last available chair, rested her elbow on its hard surface, and held her brow in her shaking hand. John reached out and held her other hand. "Molly, you and I both know psychosis is a symptom not a disease, we can help him out of this."

"With all do respect, Dr. Watson," Mycroft cut in, "Sherlock's needs to be seen by trained professionals in the field of psychosis and mental disorders, not a mortician and a family doctor."

At this disrespectful insult, Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, "Now, really Myc!" Molly, John, and Mycroft all stood up aggressively but Mr. Holmes was quick enough to place himself between John and Molly and their aggressor. 

"No--With all do respect to you, Mr. Holmes," Molly hissed at Mycroft over Siger's shoulder, "your idea of what Sherlock needs is the reason we are all here! You seem to be just as inept at handling Sherlock's emotions as you are with your own!" The room went silent. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes both raised their eyebrows at this woman's fierceness; nobody apart from themselves have ever talked to Mycroft like that. It was rather nice not having to be the ones to admonish Mycroft for his arrogance. 

"The gas," John growled. "Turn off the gas and release Sherlock's restraints, now."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are blowing me away with your response! Which makes me feel terrible for the briefness of this next chapter; you deserve so much more! But as I thought about Sherlock's family (we have Icecat62's comment to thank for that inspiration), I had to give them more credit. 
> 
> Stay with me, though! The next chapter will bring Sherlock and Molly face to face! Look for it toward the end of next week.

When the sedative effect of the benzodiazepine began to lift, Sherlock's heart raced in a panic at the imprisoned sensation of being both conscious and paralyzed at the same. The paralytic however, succinylcholine Sherlock guessed, still held him immobile. In his mind, Sherlock strained against the chemical possession of his nervous system but the only thing that moved was the sweat that ran down his hairline. "Ten minutes," Sherlock thought savagely, recalling his chemistry degree. "Succinylcholine has a duration of up to ten minutes, unless that bastard let his Fisher-Price 'scientists' tamper with the compound." 

Sherlock could feel the metal release around his wrists and ankles but for all the freedom it allowed, he was unable to enjoy it. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"According to our psychiatrists, Sherlock is hopefully only experiencing a 'Brief Psychotic Episode," Mycroft said to the room. "I am told they can last anywhere from one day to one month. Should he continue this psychosis past that time, however," Mycroft looked to his parents, "we will be facing a more devastating diagnosis."

"Molly," John said, "you are the only one he wants to talk to. You saw what happened when I tried." John looked out the window at Sherlock and back to Molly, "We all know Sherlock loves each of us," and here he gestured to the seated table, "but when he said that he loves you Molly, he wasn't just telling you, he was finally able to tell himself."

Unable to remain seated, Molly rose from her chair in an effort to settle her quavering stomach and shaking hands. 

Mr. Holmes smiled warmly at John, got up from his seat, and stood in front of Molly. "My children are the joy of my life, and when we thought we'd lost Eurus, I never saw the sun shine as brightly as it did when they were all young," Mr. Holmes said as if reading a book to them in that same sunlight. "And today, for a few brief hours I felt the entirety of that glow when were a whole family again," He kindly placed his hands over her shoulders and said softly, "But now, that brilliant light is fading from me once more." 

Molly understood the warmth Mr. Holmes was describing in the comforting fatherly weight of his hands on her shoulders, in the eloquent way he expressed himself, and in the love they all shared for the emotionally crippled man in the glass cage. 

Mrs. Holmes came to stand by her husband and placed her hand on his that was still on Molly's right shoulder. Molly looked at Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and realized how much more love surrounded Sherlock than she realized--than he himself realized, apparently. Parents, siblings, friends...and Mycroft taught him to devalue their affection all for what? So he could have an undistracted pupil?

Mrs. Holmes said mater-of-factly, "Exceptionally intelligent as my children are, they can be quite ignorant when presented with the abstract." Turning to Mycroft and quickly shedding the softness in her voice, she said to him, "We will be leaving this room and you will turn off those cameras." 

"Now, Mother--" Mycroft said but he was silenced by the edge in her voice when she continued.

"You will leave the door to Sherlock's enclosure unlocked when Molly enters," Mrs. Holmes picked up her bag, "and we will wait for them so we can all leave together." She pulled Molly into an embrace she, Molly, had not experienced since before her own mother passed; the significance of it filled her with her with her mother's love and support. 

"Take you time," Mrs. Holmes looked at Molly with encouraging eyes. "Mycroft, I'll take some tea now. We have a lot to discuss," She said the last with a punishing side eye at Mycroft as she walked past him and out the door. Mr. Holmes and John followed in her wake without a word, leaving Mycroft and Molly speechless.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Mycroft and Molly stood alone before the locked door that separated them and Sherlock, the guards having been dismissed. Several seconds passed before Mycroft said in a defeated tone, "Doctor Hooper--"

"--Molly, call me Molly, Mycroft," and she reached out and squeezed Mycroft's arm, emphasizing her sympathy to his feeling of guilt. He looked down at her hand and then up to her shining eyes. The comparable understanding they shared shocked him, as if for the first time in a long time he was not alone in the responsibility for his brother's wellbeing. 

"My father is right," Mycroft said and genuinely smiled, something he had not done since childhood. Mycroft realized that Molly's juvenescence in their stoic family will be a refreshing addition. "You are the light his family needs and the only hope for Sherlock, for all of us." 

Mycroft left her standing there with the weight of his words more imposing than the layers of stone and concrete that surrounded her.


	5. Chapter 5

When he heard the metal lock disengage, panic flooded Sherlock so that adrenalin surged through the vessels of his body, down to his fingers and toes. The pressure of his heartbeat pounded in his ears with the increased intensity. Unable to even open his eyes, all he could do was wait for whoever entered his prison to approach his defenseless body. 

However, he did not hear foot steps approach and quickly Sherlock's panic turned to worry and confusion. Was he still in his cell? Where was John? Was he still in Eurus's game? Was Mycroft now completing her experiment?

Waves of heaviness rushed within his body, dark and depressed with loss. It frightened him and when he saw Victor-Trevor, John, and Molly's faces flash in his mind, he felt it--knew now this horrible new feeling was grief and with it, love. 

He needed to run, to escape the tomb of his body and mind that was being overtaken with sentiment, heartbreak, and regret. The impending weight of it all drove his frantic heart mad with dangerous speed. Like drums of war, his heart beat with the fear that echoed in his mind. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Molly walked up to the enclosure and placed her thumb on the glass, as Mycroft had instructed her. The imprint of her thumb glowed with an electric blue light then flashed green, as Mycroft said it would. A flawless column of glass began to lower from the ceiling and disappear within the concrete. Stepping in Molly could smell the residual dampness of the concrete and the metallic sting of blood.

Sherlock's body lay prostrate and still, as though in a deep sleep. Even though Molly had watched and memorized every feature of Sherlock's face and body throughout the years of knowing him, seeing him now, completely unaware of her attention, gave her the freedom to look closer. The fluorescent glare of the lights gave his skin a lifeless and wax-like sheen, but when she walked up to the bedside and touched his forearm, it was warm to the touch. She watched his distraught heartbeat ripple across his chest at her touch.

She knew he must be waking from the sedative but she kept her silence, selfishly taking advantage of Sherlock's inability to retort at her focused gaze. Molly traced her finger up is naked arm and watched the goosebumps emerge on his skin all the way up past the hairline of his neck. The small beads of sweat on his brow were rolling slowly down his temple and Molly gently wiped them away.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The touch on his arm did not serve to pacify Sherlock's trepidation, it only magnified his alarm. The touch was delicate and given the circumstances of his imprisonment, Sherlock expected violence. When the fingertips of his visitor moved along his arm, he knew they were moving to his neck to close around his trachea and carotid arteries and he would be helpless to resist his own murder. However, the subtle fingers did not grip his neck; they softly brushed away the sweat that ran across his forehead.

Despite himself and the waning paralytic, Sherlock managed a hitched gasp and a small hand, a woman's hand, pressed comfortingly on his chest while the other wrapped behind the curve of his neck and caressed his overlong curls. The intimate and tender way the woman held him in her hand recalled the raw felling of desire--desire for Molly. Impulsively, Sherlock sighed in the sheltering glow of the embrace and knew in that instant he was safe. 

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Molly watched the worry melt away from Sherlock's brow as he succumb to her and she could hold back from him no longer. She leaned in close to his ear and breathed, "Sherlock, I'm here." Molly turned her head and softly kissed the sharp angle of his jaw. She felt him pant and swallow weakly on his dry mouth. Looking now into his face, she waited patiently for his fluttering eyes to open. 

Taking Sherlock's limp hand in hers, she brought his palm up to cradle the side of her face and opened his eyes against the light, he saw Molly. Sherlock could not recognize the wild abundance of feelings coursing through his heart but right before his eyes, he could feel his confusion changing. He felt young and foolish, but with her cunning eyes Molly was showing him that he could trust her with his newly invigorated emotions. 

With overwhelming curiosity at the war between his head and heart, Sherlock wanted to catalogue and explore each new feeling Molly was stirring inside him, but his body would not allow him closer to her. Infuriating weakness suffocated his muscles with every effort. "Mm...Molly," Sherlock managed and his voice cracked with disuse. 

Molly pressed her lips to his to hush his efforts and give the paralytic time to leave his system. She easily deepened the kiss and a muffled groan of pleasure echoed in his chest. Never had Sherlock been kissed this way; with passion for the other's pleasure, with the intent of expressing love. His affair with Janine was just a perk for his transport, there was no affection like he was now feeling with Molly. The Woman, Irene Adler, had never kissed him. She was cautious of getting close but failed in her discipline, allowing him to manipulate her weakness and beat her game. But with every warm caress of Molly's lips, Sherlock burned with the connection being forged. 

Electrical impulses trickled throughout Sherlock's body as Molly lit every fuse that had been extinguished by the paralytic. He found that he could now hold her face in his hands and pull her body closer to his own. Holding her still above him, Sherlock said in a whisper, "For the longest time," he paused to catch his breath, "I thought I possessed everything I could ever want, but I was protecting an empty shell." Sherlock tucked a loose strand of hair behind Molly's ear and continued with more conviction, "I see now how comfortable I became in my ignorance."

His eyes searched Molly's eyes for more to say, to explain his error and in the telling, he felt himself become free. "I thought that needing someone, allowing sentiment to be a liability was dangerous. But I see now what I have done. I was guarding my feelings, falsely identifying them as my weakness. I was so wrong, Molly," Sherlock said with strength and certainty that carried his words. 

"And what is it that you are feeling, Sherlock?" Molly asked, matching his hushed tone. 

"I'm in love, Molly," Sherlock said in his strongest voice yet.


	6. Chapter 6

In the helicopter, they were forced to wear protective ear wear against the sound of the engine and propellers, and the stormy turbulence jarred them and caused them to bump shoulders and knees. Uncomfortable though the others may be, it reminded Siger Holmes of his time in the Royal Air Force. Thrilling and frightening was his first flight and he saw those same feelings written on his youngest son's face, as it appears he is on a first flight of his own. 

Siger smiled to himself when he remembered falling in love and was excited for his son to feel the same. When they walked into the briefing room, Sherlock and Molly were holding hands and Siger blushed to wonder if his son really was still a virgin. Molly stood a shade in front of Sherlock as she spoke for them, saying they were ready to leave. Siger saw how his son held Molly's hand; like a child with a new balloon, glancing at it every other second, holding its string like it will blow away with the wind. 

When the helicopter landed, Mycroft quickly got out and offered his hand to Molly. The moment her feet touched the floor, Mycroft closed the helicopter door, through the window gave Sherlock and the others the sternest look he could, and held up a finger and said, "Give me one moment." The noise of the helicopter's idle engine shielded his words from the occupants inside, but they took his meaning. "I want to thank you, Molly," Mycroft said above the roar. "For a long time I have shouldered the burden of protecting my brother, and he has not made it easy. I think now you share that burden, and I'm happy to have the help."

Mycroft reached up for the door handle but before he opened it he said, "I see now how wrong I was; what I did when I chose not to teach my brother to value his emotions." The rain was now soaking through their cloths, but Mycroft had one more thing to say. Grinning a coy smile, Mycroft said, "I will tell you this, Molly: Sherlock is a quick study, I'm actually quite proud of him--please don't tell him I said that. He is a diligent pupil when he wants to be, and I've never seen 'want' on his face like I see when he looks at you."

Mycroft swung open the door and Sherlock exited first, giving Mycroft a dark glare. Several black government vehicles were lined up to take them all home; a meeting tomorrow afternoon was arranged to discuss matters. Mr. Holmes went to the nearest car and opened the door for his wife and looking to his boys, he nodded in an unspoken communication of assurance.

Sherlock gripped Molly's hand and ushered her into the car. "Give me one moment," Sherlock mimicked his brother's words--Molly thought that may just be a theme in the Holme's household. He then winked at her, the playful gesture caught her off guard, but he closed the car door before she could reply. 

"John," Sherlock said and he could feel the exhaustion in his body and heard it in his voice. "I--" but when his tired eyes left the car door and found John, Sherlock froze in his sentence. John was grinning like a naughty school boy peeping on the girls' gym class, his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders up by his ears. 

"Oh, shut up!" Sherlock said in exacerbation, but they both softly chuckled when Sherlock could not help but laugh at John's ridiculous expression.

"Do you need a quick lesson on the birds and the bees?" John managed to get out between his laughing. 

Pulling himself upright despite the protest of his aching body, Sherlock said, "Despite what Mycroft leads people to believe, I have had sex," though he added rather anxiously, "Twenty years ago."

"What do you mean?" John asked surprised. "Didn't you shag Jenine?"

Sherlock smirked, "No, that's why she gave those interviews to the papers, 'Shag-A-Lot Holmes,' 'Seven Times A Night In Baker Street.'" He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

"I, I'm am feeling...nervous?" Sherlock said questioningly. "I feel nauseated, my palms are sweating, and my heart rate has not been regular--" He spoke as if he was trying to do a full deduction, but he was unable to process the data with which he was presented, buffering against the new sensation of being uninformed and having his mind now constantly distracted by Molly.

"Good!" John clasped Sherlock on the shoulder and he grunted in pain when John squeezed. "Molly deserves a little reparation. Will you be taking Dr. Hooper to her home or to Baker street?"

Slyly raising the corner of his mouth and opening the door, Sherlock said, "To Baker Street."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This "shelter in place" business is really cramping my writing time. I was getting into an enjoyable habit of putting up a chapter every week, but now I never have the house to myself, and that is when I get all my writing done! 
> 
> Also, I've had an idea for another story and that has spurred me to finish this one! I've done the two work-in-progress thing before and I'd rather not go there again!
> 
> As always, your thoughts and comments are welcome!

When Sherlock closed the car door, the overhead light went out, leaving he and Molly in darkness. The limousine-style back seat had them facing each other, but the street lamps and the headlights of passing cars allowed them to read each other's faces in small, half second increments. 

After a few minutes of silence, Molly spoke up, "Sherlock, I--" 

"It is another twelve minutes to Baker Street, Molly," Sherlock interrupted. "The dark, back seat of a government vehicle is not ideal for the conversation we must have." 

His muted voice and her name on his lips raised her heart rate and she felt her cheeks flush. The arousal reminded her of being a teenager; when the slightest suggestion of sex made her horny. Molly grinned long enough for the light of the city to show Sherlock. It was not the response he expected from her after he rather rudely interrupted her and told her she must wait. 

Sherlock heard a click, "Her seatbelt," his mind told him instantly, "Why did she take off--" His whole body froze and every muscle tensed when he felt her straddle his hips and grip the sides of his neck.

"No, this is no place for conversation," Molly's breath whispered hot on his lips, "but it is one of the best places for this..." She ground her pelvis against his heated lap and she stifled his involuntary groan with her lips. How many years and how many nights had it been that Molly had longed to do this? Molly licked and sucked on his immobile lips for three seconds before Sherlock was ignited back into spontaneous movement.

Instinctively, Sherlock gripped her buttocks and pulled her down harder on his answering lap. The captive sensation of lust he had not felt in years possessed his brain; it was freeing, he was without thought, relying only on the heat of Molly's body, the wet softness of her mouth, and the firm but gentle way her fingers pulled on his hair and scraped against his scalp. 

At sudden right turn, Molly nearly lost her balance but Sherlock's arms seized her torso and deliciously failed to release her when they were on a straightaway. He pawed at the hem of her top and snaked chilled fingers along her ribcage. Molly gasped in his mouth at his cold touch on her heated flesh. Sherlock chuckled a deep and sinister laugh that rippled in her chest and he cheekily tickled the sensitive flesh between her ribs.

Molly, at first delighting in the sound and feel of his laugh, yelped at the attack and squirmed against the betrayal. Her attempts to free herself from his unrelenting arms caused her to writhe on top of him and he laughed loudly at the bonus sensation the act of tickling provided. A primal joy overcame him as he held down his struggling mate and delighted in the conquering feeling. 

Another turn, and he deviously relinquished his capture, but before Molly fell to the side, she reached for Sherlock and caught him around the neck and pulled herself to the secureness of his body--just as he planned. Panting from the attack and sudden ambush, Molly seized the sides of his face and forced him to look up at her. "You...bastard," she breathed heavily with each word, a smile on her face. 

"Now, Molly," Sherlock feigned insult, "I would have thought a kindhearted woman like yourself would be above name-calling."

"Name-calling, no?" Molly said and bent to whisper mischievously into Sherlock's ear, "...and certainly not above retaliation." The muscles of his throat pitched and flexed as he swallowed his next quip, genuinely scared for her next move and very aware of how exposed his neck was. Sherlock was not even quite sure he WAS ticklish; no-one had dared try and tickle him since he was a child. "Seems as though I will find out tonight," Sherlock thought to himself and it brought a smile to his face. 

Taking advantage of Sherlock's momentary lapse of attention, Molly blew against his ear and soothed the goosebumps on Sherlock's neck with her tongue. Sherlock hummed a high pitched wine, and she did it once more for him. 

"Humm, Humm!" the driver interjected and Molly could have killed him.

"What!?" Sherlock snapped and by his tone he was also plotting this man's murder for the heinous crime of causing Molly to stop.

"Baker Street Mr. Holmes, Dr. Hooper," the driver said, and added with a smile, "I don't have enough gas in this thing to drive you around until you both tire out."

"Yes, sorry," Molly said as she slowly came back to her senses. "You're right. Sorry...I mean, thank you!" She opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, a little unsteady. The frigid breeze of the storm soothed her flushed skin and she took a deep breath of the crisp air. When she opened her eyes, Molly was still alone on the curb. 

"Sherlock?" Molly bent down and saw Sherlock still seated, taking deep calming breaths. "We're h--are you alright?" She asked genuinely concerned when he closed his eyes and exhaled in a shudder.

"Yes," Sherlock said quickly. "Ah-hem, ah, quite functional. I just needed a minute to be less functional, uh--that is, I..." He blew out another slow, controlled breath and exited the car. Sherlock stretched his arms out wide and welcomed the cold weather to blow through the fabric of his shirt. "Ahh--AH! Mph!" He sighed then startled when Molly embraced him, nearly knocking him off balance, and began kissing him hard.

The driver watched in the sideview mirror as the couple stumbled up the stairs, faces still glued together, hands all over each other. Sherlock and Molly fell clumsily through the door and the driver chuckled. Through the speakers, an alert sounded and Mycroft's voice said sternly, "What's your report, Hillbrook? What was that aimless detour for anyway?"

"Well..." Hillbrook drolled and continued, "Ya see, they were having quite the time back there, and I just thought to give them a little more time to...uh, acquaint themselves."

"Indeed," Mycroft said flatly. "Mummy and Daddy will be pleased, anyway. Anything else to report?"

"To be honest, sir," Hillbrook said, "they didn't do much talking, if you take my meaning." He chuckled as he remembered the soft sound The Great Detective made when the small doctor had pulled on his hair.

"--That will be all!" Mycroft said and hung up, but Hillbrook continued to giggle.

**Author's Note:**

> Your thoughts and comments greatly appreciated!


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